Murphy scowled at the television. Only three stations carried signals. TBS had cartoon marathons with no commercials. MTV had replays of old sports games. Channel Seven had the news. The television habbit died a hard death. He kept it on for noise.
"Happy?" Jake asked.
"Shut up," Murphy said. He swallowed beer. He stayed in his robes constantly and they stank. Every idea they tried backfired. Jake seemed pleased. "You know, I'm starting to see why they didn't like you the first time around," he said.
"Do you know the origins of the word 'scapegoat'?" Jake asked. Murphy drank more beer.
"I want to tell you a story," Jake continued. "It used to be a very popular one. It's about these two guys, kinda like you except there's two of them. They're walking down this road and a stranger comes up to them..."
"No," Murphy said. "No stories. Fix this," he gestured at the TV. "All you do is tell stories and little joke miracles and you let people walk all over you. Even the Pope laughed at you. No more. Fix us. Fix this."
Jake stared at him. Murphy gave up.
********************************************************
She could see a little. Sunlight winking off the ocean, blurry faces, small fires. This is what she saw. Dempsey's grey coat fluttered.
"You know," he said, "The last time you spoke was yesterday." She had a thousand responses. She knew where they were and what he'd done to get them here. It didn't matter to her one bit.
"Thank you," she said. He winced. He put the blanket over her knees.
"Look," he said, "I wrote reports for people. I had no idea."
"Dempsey," a man called, climbing the hill. "Someone got word out about Virginia."
"Huh?" Dempsey stood frozen.
"You go down to the tent," the man said, "I'll stay with her."
"Take me down there," she said. The men looked at her, at each other.
They took her to the tent. She saw moving parts of a great blob. She smelled the strange aroma of men in close quarters. Their voices wove in and out of a great conversation.
"Hal," the old man said, "This is Dempsey. And this is Erin." She got a feel for the man instantly.
"He's the one from Maryland?" she asked. Dempsey affirmed. "Mr. Kermin, we all appreciate what you've done," she said. "My eyes are bad, so forgive me if I'm not familiar with the contents of your flier. I trust it had most of the information in it?"
A silence ensued. Many other men gathered around. The wispering started.
"Thank you," she said to him. "Dempsey, have your man take me back to the hill." The old man did as she said.
Hal watched her go. "Does she have any idea," Hal began.
"Yeah," dempsey cut him off. "She, um, was injured in the first wave of bombs and then," he stopped, "She knows."
"Why don't they kill us?" Hal asked.
"We're working on that," Dempsey said. "They might still do it. They have the time."
"What's she really like?" Hal asked.
"Just as you saw her," Dempsey said. "Cold."
Labels: The Road to Emmaus
